Chapter 17 Bloody Shirt
Alessia's POV
It’s been raining for a few hours now. Ice cubes are falling from the sky and hitting the windows mercilessly. The sound keeps making me jump as my nerves are shot. I have been tossing and turning for hours, trying my best to sleep but failing miserably. Every sound in the household makes me fidget. Every footstep I hear makes me fear, because I wonder if it is Signora Margherita or Isabella coming to harass me again.
Oh Dios… I lean on the headboard and pick up the remote, switching on the TV to my favorite telenovela. The soft hum of the television slowly starts to lull me into a relaxed state until I hear the front door slamming shut.
He is back.
I take a deep breath as I face the television again. Soon after, my room door opens and he stands in the doorway, leaning on the frame. He is soaking wet, his clothes clinging to his body. Blood streaks down his light blue shirt. Even with all of this, his features are still breathtaking — his jaw sharp as if carved out of stone.
“Where did you go?” I whisper, my voice full of worry despite myself.
He doesn’t answer as he steps inside and closes the door behind him, removing the key and adding it to a chain around his neck.
“I thought I told you to rest,” he says finally, his voice low and barely audible.
I get up from the bed and point toward his body. “You are covered in blood. Is it yours?” Even though I doubt it — he doesn’t look hurt — I ask regardless.
He looks down at his shirt, then back up at me. “It’s not mine.” His expression is unreadable.
My stomach sinks. “Then whose blood is it?”
He is quiet for a few seconds.
“It’s Gio’s,” he whispers, and I feel something break in my heart. “Gio? How is he?”
“Did you kill him?” I ask, my voice breaking.
He doesn’t say a word. Rage fills me as my vision blurs. Tears race down my cheeks one after another, and before I can stop myself, I lunge at him, pushing at his chest with all my might — pounding with my fists.
“You monster, how could you? I would not be alive if it wasn’t for him!” My voice cracks as I punch him again and again. “He didn’t deserve to die! You’re an evil bastard!”
He remains quiet, taking every blow, every strike, until I am too tired to continue. Then he catches my wrists gently but firmly.
“Stop doing that,” he says quietly.
“Or what? Leave me!” I whisper, struggling against his hold, but his hands remain locked around mine.
“Alessia… it’s enough.”
His voice isn’t loud, but the command cuts through my hysteria. I freeze, chest still heaving, sniffing. His fingers finally loosen as he takes a step away from me, watching me calmly.
“You should learn not to jump to conclusions. I wasn’t the one that killed him,” he murmurs.
I blink, confused, searching his eyes for the truth — but then, he really has no reason to lie. He looks away, rubbing his hand through his hair.
“You should try and sleep, Alessia,” he says as he moves to the bathroom, removing his jacket on the way. He walks in and shuts the door.
I stand frozen, staring at the locked door — my only chance of escape. That’s why he locked it. Sighing, I lean back on the bed as thoughts of Gio fill my mind again. Kind-hearted, soft-spoken Gio… they killed him because he helped me.
Grief fills me as I stare at the television, unseeing of the screen.
Alex steps out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and shoulders, his biceps dotted with tattoos. I can’t help the way my eyes sweep over his sculpted, hot body. I move my gaze away quickly, angry that I even looked to begin with.
To my surprise, he crosses over and sits beside me.
“Cara mia, do not cry anymore,” he says softly.
“I hate you, Alex,” I whisper as my voice breaks again, tears falling in earnest.
“I know you do.”
I look at him, barely seeing him through my tears. So many have died.
His hand moves to my face, brushing away my tears with his calloused fingers. My breath hitches at the slight contact. So he can be gentle too? The warmth of his hand lingers on my face even after he pulls away.
“Hold on to that hatred, Alessia,” he says quietly, “because hatred keeps you alert and alive.” Weird he will say that . I really wish I could hate him . It will make everything less complicated . His eyes holds mine captive for an intense moment before He pulls the blanket over me, tucking it into my sides.
“Sleep,” he murmurs.
I shake my head as a yawn escapes. “Won’t you leave?” I ask weakly as exhaustion starts to weigh me down.
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t smile.
“It’s my house. I can sleep wherever I want. Think of me as your bodyguard.”
He settles into one of the single chairs, still clad in only a towel, arms folded as he watches the movie playing on the TV. I lay back down again as my tears finally dry up and exhaustion pulls me into sleep.
As I drift off, I feel his eyes on me — alert, steady, and silent — shielding me from monsters he isn’t ready to tell me about.